


A Model Beginning

by LadyMaya



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mission Fic, Modeling, Pre-Slash, Q Has Siblings (James Bond), it's never a cake walk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-26 00:55:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30097824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMaya/pseuds/LadyMaya
Summary: A terrorist threat forces Q onto the catwalk, and potentially into 007s bed.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Kudos: 28





	A Model Beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LemonYellow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonYellow/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Demon!Q [ART]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/30135591) by [LemonYellow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonYellow/pseuds/LemonYellow). 



> For my ever so patient, utterly inspiring artist. I'm so sorry it's late, I hope it lives up!

Q stared at the terrorist threat on his desk. It was something out of a 90s B grade movie, letters and words cut from various magazines and pasted on to a sheet of paper. The original had been couriered to them last week, and seeing it in person was even more baffling than the scans. Honestly, a terrorist threat on paper. 

'Do you have a niece with an interesting past time or is that really a threat to blow up a men's lingerie fashion show?' 

'Turns out it's a real threat, the electronic mailbox had marked their previous communications as "spam" and sent to them to the junk box. This is a genuine terrorist threat to the Inaugural Viktor's Secrets Fashion Parade. And yes they've already beaten the injunction by Victoria's Secret over the name, they won because it's a show that features multiple brands.' 

'They got a good judge, hm?' 

'His sister is a lesbian with a grudge against the elitist beauty standards of Haute Couture.' 

'So why are you looking over it? It's MI5's job on English soil.' James gestured at the various screens showing off the information on the founder, the shows set up, brands on display and various people's profiles. The shadows cast by the bright blue screen lights left the agent looking especially deadly, despite the curious expression he wore.

'The event is being held at a French chalet, which conveniently sits on a mountain that could crush a sleepy little town of ten thousand people if the chalet was destroyed.' 

Q pulled up the map and the estimated damage examples that had been calculated from a small bomb that could blow the chalet apart, to one that could blow the chalet and half the mountain if set up at the right place. 

'There's very little I won't do for Queen and country Q, but I'm not the agent to be prancing around on a stage.' 

'I dunno, you looked downright charming in that school marm outfit in '98,' Alec snarked as he entered the room. The two sniper rifles he carried went on the side table and a small briefcase was opened to show off a half dozen ear pieces, sets of micro bugs and two signal boosters in the top half and several tins of unknown substances in the bottom next to two small perfume bottles. 

'Rifles have been modified for the drug capsules, but we'll need some time to practice with the new settings, see how far we can be before the aim is off.' 

'What's that phrase? There are no photos, and therefore it didn't happen?' Q watched the dangerous smile spread over James' face as he faced off against Alec. 'And if there were any, there might be some from that lovely night you had with-' 

'Now, now, there's no need to be rude. I was complimenting you!' 

'Why is it that you end up chattering like schoolboys every time you're in the same room despite your advanced years?' Q cut in, carefully hiding his grin at the outrage he prompted, the agents puffing up like those prissy show cats denied a gourmet dinner. 'As a matter of fact, the two of you will be accompanying me to the show, where we will be doing our best to find each target and ensure they are alive for interrogation. No killing gentlemen, the higher ups think this is just a trial run for a far larger opportunity.' 

'Thus the non-lethal technology. Do we have poisoned hand cream too?' James asked with a grin. 

'Not yet, there was an issue with the production, we haven't quite figured out how to keep the gloves from dissolving on the wearer. Each tin contains five strips of a fast acting poison that mimics the effects of food poisoning or migraines. They are clear but need to be brushed over bare skin as body heat is the activator.' 

'I never want to get within touching distance of you again.' 

'That just leaves me far too many projectile weapons. Honestly, it's best just to stay on my good side Trevelyan.' Q said blithely, finishing shutting down his computers, 'now are you ready to go, or do we need to wait for you to pack a bag?' 

'My go bag is ready for travel, anything else I need we can get organised from another branch I'm sure.' 

'Excellent. Let's go then, the airport has our tickets, and I have drugs to take.' He ignored the shocked look on his agent's faces, picking up the laptop and his suitcase and heading for the garage. Flying was the worst, thanks to too many inner ear infections as a child but they simply didn't have time for a leisurely drive across France.

Saint-Etienne was a lovely town in the south of France, an hour out of Lyon. With three days to go before the fashion show, they'd decided to finalise any purchases here before they descended on the small town that would host them and the terrorists. It also gave Q a chance to work through the dopey feeling left behind by the sleeping pills he took so he could fly.

'So, not that I’m not adoring having you in the field with us Q, but why are you here and not coordinating from London?' 

'I have leave booked after this op and decided that it would be faster to get to Spain if I was already here. I start my leave early, and I get to drive across France on the way home. Win-win.' 

Q watched the screen he'd set up, ensuring the tech was still in pristine condition after the flight. Touching the mic he leaned closer, 'Andrew, watch your spins, you'll topple over if you keep waving your arms around like that.' 

'Why are you not asking about the impressive amount of information he knows on men's fashion, he cat walks and make up?' Alec whispered furiously, sotto voce. 'Really, that's far more interesting.' 

'Because our dear quartermaster isn't likely to tell us and I'd like to not be smothered in my sleep,' James answered calmly, wiping down the last of the oil from cleaning the new sniper rifles he and Alec had been testing. 

'James you're becoming a fuddy duddy in your old age. Where's your sense of adventure?' 

'I left it with my sense of childlike wonder the last time you blew up your kitchen.' 

'Do the two of you not have enough to do? I have many things I can foist off on the two of you,' Q said, not turning around to watch the by play. They were like schoolboys giggling over putting frogs in their pockets, Q thought. 

'Certainly Q, there's little else we can do bar practice until we get to the chalet.' 

Q sighed, 'very well; if you can organise with Caleb on the inventory I'd like to be certain we have everything before we pack up. If there's anything missing go get it yourselves and get out of my hair.' 

'Inventory and shopping, we've been reduced to admin James, I'll never recover.' 

James answer was lost as the door closed behind them and Q returned to the practice he was observing. 'Andrew, I'm just about done with this set up, I'm coming to you and if you can't learn not to flourish as you spin I'm going to send you back to London. This isn't drama school, learn to do your job properly or don't volunteer.'

By the time he'd made it to the room they were practising in, Andrew had managed to stop flouncing as he spun, arms held at the correct angle to keep the practice wings stable, but was still having trouble with the squat at the end. Q sighed, and strapped on a spare pair of heels and motioning Andrew off the stage. 

'We'll try without the wings for now; the balance is hard enough without them and no one needs you breaking a leg or falling off the run way on the night. You're doing well to keep your knees soft, but you need to have your weight forward and core tight to control that movement.' 

They went through it several times until Andrew was able to squat and rise without falling over before they finished up. Neither wanted to overwork muscles they didn't normally use so consistently. 

'Alright, we'll try again with the wings tomorrow, and then we'll be on our way to the chalet. You'll do a dry run with the other models, and then a dress rehearsal that night and the day after is the show. Don't forget to have a massage, the stiffness will suck so much more if you don't.' 

Andrew nodded, they'd gone over the necessary theatre related health issues before he'd been chosen for the show. They'd needed someone on the catwalk to justify being behind the scenes and a picky model with his personal team was the easiest way to go. The original model had been paid handsomely to come down with mono and miss the show. 

Q sighed and left the rest of the staff to finalise packing, they'd only set up the basics to ensure they were working while they waited and closing down his own section took minutes. He headed for the doors, needing to stretch out after the somewhat unexpected workout he'd just had. The arm holding his coat appearing in his vision startled him badly and only quick reflexes ensured he ended up in the agent's arms instead of on the floor. 

'Bond, one of these days you're going to give me a heart attack. Aren't you supposed to be with Alec?' 

'We've finished with the packing, and between us, we've collected the extra's we wanted for the op. Alec has found himself some company for the night and the crew said you were looking for food.' 

'Yes, I need to stretch out and there's a restaurant down the road that supposed to be quite good.' 

'Fantastic, it's a wonderful evening for a walk.' 

'And why am I keeping you company? Run out of pretty girls to woo?' Q snarked as they wound their way through the streets. The evening light was grey and gold, and the wide street showed off the mountains in the distance, already dark and showing a few stars above them. The weather was just beginning to turn, a few dropped leaves of golden brown dusting the streets, and the air nipping at noses and fingertips. 

'Not at all, but pretty boys are rather more my speed currently.'

'That was a pathetic pick up line James.'

'Ah but it wasn't a pick up line, it was a notice of intention. I'd rather you not think I was merely playing when I do flirt with you.'

'You flirt with me all the time,' Q frowned, looking over at the agent. He was dressed down, sort of, in slacks and a blue button down, his own sports jacket in the crook of his elbow.

'Well yes, but you ignore me and assume I'm playing,' James gestured to the restaurant sign and steered them in when Q nodded. 'I thought I should point out that I'm not, and would like to..'

'Try things out in a monogamous and adult relationship?' Q offered when the agent seemed to run out of words.

'Bonsoir, please follow me, I'll return for your drink orders in a moment,' the waitress burbled cheerfully as they entered. They seated themselves and Q watched the other man as he carefully read each item over. He thanked the waitress when she returned with water and made his order, listening as the agent conversed with her in French for a minute before ordering himself.

'I'm sure you're aware that I sleep my way through missions happily, but that's easy enough to avoid. I know several other techniques that work just as well to get information. So, yes. I'd like to try a monogamous, sexual relationship with you. I'm not entirely certain it will work, given that I prefer you to run my missions, and you might not be willing to do so for a partner, nor even if we'd suit without missions to talk about.'

Q looked down at his water glass, thinking over the implications of a relationship with one of his agents. He knew Bond was capable of a monogamous relationship he'd seen it several times over the years, but the agent was right. They spoke most often about missions, though there'd been more than one late night stake out they'd spent talking about anything that came to mind, let alone the times James loitered in Q branch. Which began to make a lot more sense now. He'd thought the agent was lonely and up to no good, but in retrospect, he'd been setting things up for a while.

'Why now? We're in the middle of a mission-'

'One where neither of us is the face of the operation, nor is it likely to blow up in our faces. This is about as close to a cake walk as we ever get Q.'

'You might be right there,' Q couldn't help but laugh, something hard easing as he accepted that this was something he wanted with the agent, potential issues aside. James too, was definitely not playing. If he'd gone out of his way to be serious, and think through the implications himself, it wasn't just a whim.

'Come to Spain with me after the mission,' he offered impulsively. 'My brother has a winery a few hours outside of Valencia, its about 10 hours from here. We can share the drive and talk it through more.'

The pleasure that flashed across James' face made him glad to offer, and they spoke about other things during dinner, silently agreeing to put it aside until after the op was finished. 

The small town at the base of the mountain was lovely, full of charming little houses and a supermarket that had been built to match the town rather than sticking out in ugly square cement. The road up to the chalet was well marked, and they were set up in their rooms with a minimum of fuss. Q stayed in the room, finalising the technical side as Jacob and Micheal set up backstage. With three other agents spread out as guests of the show and Bond and Alec - admittedly overkill to have two 00 agents but it was oddly quiet in the world of espionage and no one wanted a bored Alec - prowling for their nests, Q was as certain as he could be that the op would go off perfectly. 

Three hours later Andrew was on the way to the hospital with a compound fracture of the tibia and Q was speaking with the director of the show about how and where to set up his team. A few frantic conversations with other staff and Annette was nominated to lead the op with Micheal staying her second. Micheal and Jacob would keep their places backstage of the show, and Annette would stay in the room monitoring and running the op instead of being their second on the ground. 

Q groaned, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably. The large bat shaped wings were very well made – benefits of an almost unlimited budget, he supposed – and fitted him well with straps that held tight to his ribs, and were very nearly invisible over his shoulders to keep them upright. They even moved slowly and gently to curl around his body and arch up over his head. The lightweight metals were overlaid with a thin membrane made from real leather, somewhere between the softness of suede and the thinness of vellum. Some sort of air clay had been used to fuse claws to the tip, and thankfully they were calibrated to keep away from his face, though the claw itself was blunted to avoid accidental scratches. He'd not been party to their creation, only offering a few tweaks to the mechanics to help keep them smooth. That aside, they still weighed nearly three kilograms and he hadn't been practising with them for the last week.

The scruff he'd grown over the last few weeks was neatly trimmed into a Van Dyke style beard, reaching up to the curls that hung over his ears. The hair gel had been slathered on, scrunched, fluffed and sprayed down with something else that had a vaguely disturbing flammable warning on it – the labs at Q branch were designed for flammable things, having it in his hair was something entirely different – and left him looking no different to a long day at the labs. It had made more than a few of the people around him give him second and third looks though, so something was good about it. Some eyeliner – a better brand than he'd used in his clubbing days – left his eyes large and deep, adding to the cheekbones highlighted and blushed, and left him looking altogether unworldly. 

He eyed the wrap around he'd be wearing, letting a stage hand hook it under the wings before sliding his arms into place and tying it at his hip. With one shoulder bare – having one nipple cold and the other warm was a truly interesting sensation he'd have to consider at a later date – a quick tug at the knot and a shoulder shimmy would drop it to the floor easily. 

He eyed the heels one last time, letting the rush of sound from being backstage of a major fashion show run over him, the call outs, screaming, swishing material, clattering of feet and voices collating into a sound that defied explanation. 

He nodded at the man who'd been assigned to help him into the outfit - Jacob, nice guy, three kids and a wife that worked as a smithy in her free time - and stepped into the heels, letting the weight settle onto heel and toe, wincing a little at the arch while Jacob wrapped the golden ties up and around and into an utterly meticulous bow halfway up his calf. The shimmering black-gold tights he wore had already been attached to the garter belt, matching the golden shoes and the very tiny, golden ruffled panties he wore. 

A soft beep in his ear and he stepped out, music swelling into a heavy crash of drumbeats and guitar. He concentrated on the walk, swing his hips out so the wings appeared to move more than the gentle curl, snapping down each foot to clatter against the runway, a noise barely heard over the music but enough to keep him in time with the music. He stopped, curling forward an arm to gesture at the cameras before looking aside and smirking at the audience. The wraps tie unhooks, silky material swaying gently as it readjusts. He strutted forward again as the bridge of the song sweeps across the audience, a key change from prominent guitars to the thrumming piano as he stood at the end of the catwalk and shrugged the wrap from his shoulders showing off the skimpy panties and garter belt. A second beep in his ear, barely heard over the flashing cameras and music had him drop – knees out, arse down, arms spread and floating up as he stood before blowing a kiss to the audience and sashaying off the cat walk. He looked back once, winking over his shoulder at the barely seen shadow on upper rigging. 

Jacob guided him back to the styling area, and he sat to remove the heels as the comm in his ear began to chatter. 

'Target one neutralised, she appeared to faint and is in our ambulance now, no unexpected side effects from the contact poison from her or our agent. Target two was identified and tagged, tracking has commenced, he left the show immediately after your exit on the phone to someone. We're trying to find out who now, the cloning on his phone was only half way through. The show is proceeding on time, and your next appearance is in seven minutes, so do urge Jacob to hurry with the costume change.' 

Q grimaced a little biting back the comment he dearly wanted to make – a throat mic wasn't viable when strutting down a runway – and stepped into the shuffles he wore to keep the stockings from fraying. A few sharp tugs and the garter came off, panties too, and then he's stepping into the black lace set that covers his cock only because of the sleeve and tape keeping it exactly where it was supposed to be. The thin straps settled low on his hips, the garter high, and the new wrap was swathed comfortably around him, baring his shoulders. Exactly six minutes after he stepped off the walkway the first time he steps into black pumps with a bow at the back, and the lights have switched to the red and gold that delineate the 'demons' from the 'angels' for the show. He took a breath and sashayed out to the haunting strains of a single violin. His wrap this time was red silk, already off his shoulders, and he let it slide further, hooking into his elbows as he made it to the end of the run way. A third beep in his ear and the music encouraged him into the deep squat, sliding the wrap off entirely and baring his very nearly naked body to the cameras. A fourth beep came quickly and he took a deep breath, standing and slinging the wrap over on arm before making his way off the run way for the final time tonight. 

Jacob was there, ready to take the wrap, and he sat as Michael began the complicated process of unhooking the wings and folding them down. He'd wriggled out of the garter belt and panties and was headed for the changing room to get his own kit on by the time the comm unit blared to life again nearly ten minutes after he stepped off the catwalk. 

'Targets three and four have been neutralised, they are both feeling poorly and are being escorted to a quiet room by our emergency services people. Target five was rushed to the hospital for a potential burst appendix and we will have an agent on site by the time they get there for monitoring and eventual retrieval. There was no indication that we nor the terrorist cell were noticed and the bomb was neutralised before you stepped on the stage. The parts have been packed up and marked for Q branch for your minions to examine at home.' 

Q's head shot up from where he'd been examining the small marks left on his shoulders, outrage on his face. Jacob handed him the throat mic and smirked, backing away with the clothing he'd already removed, Michael had already turned away but the shiver to his shoulders said volumes about his amusement. 

'Agent Trevelyan, did you just tell me I walked a runway for no reason?' 

'Of course, there was a reason Quartermaster. Poor Andrew broke his leg only yesterday, he couldn't have walked the runway like that!' Q grit his teeth, Trevelyan was going to die, and no one would ever know it was Q that did it. 

'006, there are five other men in this room with the correct body shape to have taken Andrew's place.' 

'Ah but none of them can walk in heels Quartermaster, you know that! And besides, no one else had gone through the security briefing.' 

On the other hand, there was something incredibly powerful about being known as the one to finally kill 006, he was almost as bad as Bond. 'Run, Alec. When I see you, I'm going to skin you and hang your pelt on my wall.'

The sound of the agents around him, and several with microphones not muted, all keeling over with laughter was almost enough to make walking the run way worth it. 

'I do have to ask Quartermaster, do you get to keep the clothes?' The question was breathed into his ear, well away from the microphone and he glared at Bond.

'I certainly do not. And do not continue that thread, you hear? Or I'll use one of your own tricks on you and eject the car seat!'

James laughter was soft, and as he dressed in comfortable jeans and an older fleece hoodie, he couldn't resist watching the agent organising the rest of the MI6 personnel to pack up. People were packing up around him, and the show was breaking up with the same sort of precision of an op gone perfectly. He'd write his report while Bond drove, he decided, that way they could leave a little earlier. 

'Micheal, Annette, you're in charge. I'm leaving now and will put in my reports tomorrow. If it's necessary, you know how to contact me but try to give me a few days of silence. The money for R's granddaughter is in with accounting, so don't forget to pick up the pram and have it delivered.'

He received farewells and agreements from across the board and made his way to the parking lot where his rental was waiting. His laptop, secure router and suitcase were already in the back, and a few minutes later Bond was striding toward him duffle in hand, obviously having finished handing over to Alec. 

'Ready to go?'

Q nodded, sliding into the passenger seat, a novel in one hand and his phone going into the centre console. He grabbed James phone, quickly typing in the address and placed it in the holder before reaching up to grab the two travel mugs he'd left on the roof of the car. 

'Why don't you take a nap. I'll drive us down to the coast and we can decide there if you want to drive the rest of the way tonight or get a hotel closer. We could stay the night on the beach somewhere and be there early morning instead.'

Q pulled his phone out and checked for hotels, as James smoothly got them off the mountain and headed toward the border. 

'If you can drive the four hours to Narbonne, I'll be good to get us to Tarragona and it's only another three hours drive in the morning to my brother's vineyard.'

'Easily, get some rest Q, you've barely had a chance to breathe since Andrew fell on the stairs.'

'Of all things, he falls on the stairs avoiding a snogging couple,' Q laughed softly. 'It was fun though. Not something I'd ever have wanted to do in front of a half dozen colleagues and who knows how many staff will see it at home, but still.'

'You looked amazing. It was hard to concentrate knowing you were on the walk way for everyone to see.'

'Thank you. I suppose if you're meeting my family you might as well call me Lyndon. My brother is Rowan and our sister is Hazel. You might meet her this trip, she's one of those people always off doing something and no schedule for any of it.'

'Lyndon, Rowan and Hazel. Your parents must be interesting people.'

'Richard and Mary Smith had a very particular hatred of their very boring names and decided that even if we were constantly spelling out our names it was better than dealing with the ubiquitousness of theirs. You definitely won't meet them this trip, they're in Rome for a symposium on art in the twelfth century.'

'I think I'm glad to be only facing one family member.'

Q laughed as they wound their way down the highway toward the coast. 'You're meeting my brother, but what makes you think it's only him? His wife has given him three sons and a daughter with a fifth on the way. I hope you weren't expecting a quiet week because Misha and Yasmine are 8, Angelo is 5 and Gregory is almost 4. They also have two cats, three dogs and a lizard of some kind. I haven't gotten an answer on what it is, only that it's called Marvin. Somehow I doubt it really is pastel pink and lime green as per their last artwork.'

'Marvin? Hopefully, it's not bent on world domination.'

'Oh dear, what a thought,' Q grinned, he finally found a reasonable place in Tarragona with Bond's requested beach front and booked them in, forgoing a second bed. If they were going to try this, they might as well go all in, he felt. He reached into the back for the blanket he'd stashed earlier, a small minke with just enough weight to feel it. It wasn't cold by any means, but, drugs aside, he was one of those people who needed a cover to sleep. He wasn't planning to sleep, just doze but Jams voice brought him back to consciousness.

'Lyndon, time to wake up. We're at the hotel.' Q rolled his neck, blinking up at the blue eyes oddly close to his face. 'Do you need me to carry you, or are you awake enough to walk?' 

'Hm, I can walk. I thought you were going to wake me at Narbonne?'

'I wasn't tired, I stopped for a break to stretch out and get another coffee and you were still sleeping so I kept going. Come on, we're up this way,' James hand on his shoulder guided him through the walkways and into a room with a small balcony. HE was too tired to appreciate the view but tugged at his clothes until he was down to boxers. 

'Fine, time to sleep for all good agents,' he muttered, getting under the covers and tugging until they came loose.

'Are we sharing then? I wasn't entirely sure,' James asked softly. 

'Yes, we'll share at my brother's too.' He managed to stay awake long enough to curl up against the warm body of his agent, leg and arm thrown over James like a teddy bear before sleep overtook him. Morning came with sunrise, eggs benedict and entirely too much coffee between them. It was an interesting look at the future they could build together, quiet but intense. Q couldn't help but wonder what the next few days would bring, but he vowed to enjoy every moment of it.


End file.
